


Milestone

by jaegermighty



Category: Melissa & Joey (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-10
Updated: 2014-04-10
Packaged: 2018-01-18 20:32:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1441894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaegermighty/pseuds/jaegermighty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the in-betweens that matter most, with Mel and Joe, and he hears all that stuff she doesn't say anyway. She picks up his, too -<i> two years,</i> she thinks.<i> Yeah, I guess I could stand a few more.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Milestone

**Author's Note:**

  * For [heyitsk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heyitsk/gifts).



Their two year anniversary comes and goes without either of them remembering, which isn't anyone's fault but Ryder's, really, who came home from his freshman year of college with a gigantic tattoo of the Teen Wolf symbol on the back of his right calf.

("Holy _fuck_ ," says Mel, groping for a glass of wine she hasn't gotten around to pouring yet, as Lennox collapses into spasms of laughter on the kitchen floor. 

"I was, uh," Ryder says, "it's, you know - "

"Kid, if the blanks in those sentences don't spell out 'blindingly drunk' and 'dumb as hell' then I am going to staple your forehead to this table," Joe says, through gritted teeth.

"Is 'blindingly drunk' an excuse I could've been using this whole time?" Ryder asks incredulously.

"It's not even," Lennox says, through a heaving gasp, "it's not even in the right place, oh my God, Derek's is on his back, oh my God Ryder, this is the best thing that has ever happened to me _ever_ \- "

"Holy fuck," Mel says again.)

So yeah, not that it's an excuse really, but that happened, and then there was this whole thing with Lennox and this term paper for a Sociology class that somehow involved her shadowing Mel at work all week and pissing off about two of the three branches of Ohio's state government with her preferred mode of attack of pamphlets and ad hoc arguments (how Mel's WASPy big sister managed to raise a socialist, she has _no_ idea, but then again, Lennox has always been fond of being contrary just for the hell of it, something Mel's sure that she and Joe haven't, you know... _discouraged_ , exactly), and then Joe's favorite deli apparently started ordering their fancy bacon from the _wrong_ obscure farm in Italy, apparently, which had him in a frustrated tizzy for like three days.

("Fancy bacon?" he sputters, in that squeaky voice he gets when he's really offended, "fancy - _fancy bacon_ \- "

"Is that...not what it is?" Mel asks, totally lost.

"Sometimes I really don't know what I see in you," Joe replies.)

(Hint: it's not her culinary prowess. He should know that by now.)

(Another hint: okay look, it's her ass. Let's just come out with it - he's totally into her ass. And she's totally into how into it he is - it's been a vital point of common ground in their relationship.)

Basically what this means is that they have a stomach dropping moment of realization on a Friday night, sitting up in bed while they both pretend to be engrossed on their tablets while eavesdropping on Lennox's cell phone conversation through the air duct. Well - Mel's on her iPad. Joe's pretending to read The Hunger Games. As if Mel doesn't know that he's got the trilogy on tape in his car, and he's already an hour into Catching Fire, _please_.

"Yeah, like, I just hate that it's a big deal, the whole celebrating anniversaries thing is kind of lame, anyway - Mel and Joe didn't do shit for their two year, but Micah's mad at me because I didn't give him a promise ring for making it past a month? Come on," Lennox says, and Mel and Joe simultaneously drop their electronics, sharing a mutual look of panic. Aw, shit.

"Fuck, our _anniversary_ ," Joe says, just as Mel blinks at him stupidly and says at the same time, "fuck, _two years_?"

"I know, right," Lennox chimes in through the duct, and Mel switches her blinking to the grate instead, only just stopping herself from snapping back because, oh yeah, she's not...actually talking to Mel. Right.

Joe seems to share her disconcertment because he jumps to his knees and slides the duct shut, muffling Lennox's voice - look, the girl's got pipes, it's kind of hard _not_ to eavesdrop on her room, honestly - and collapsing back down to the mattress to shoot a disgruntled look at Mel. 

"I can't believe you forgot our anniversary, Burke," he says, and Mel's mouth drops open in shock.

"Are you - seriously?" she replies. "You forgot it too!"

"Right, well - " Joe deflates a little, "okay you've got a point there."

"I can't believe it's been two _years_ ," Mel says. 

"Hey, time flies when you're having fun," Joe says. "Or when you're arguing all the time. Both. Whatever."

"Or when you have to repress so many traumatic memories," Mel chirps. "No wonder it's already been so long. Any day now I expect to Rip Van Winkle this bitch and wake up in the 2040s, having already lost the best years of my life to your overtanned ass."

"Aw honey, don't worry about that," Joe says sweetly, "all that wine and red meat? You'll probably die of liver disease _long_ before 2040."

"Thanks," Mel replies archly, aiming her fist at his gut, "thanks. That's sweet."

"I'm just saying, your lifestyle ain't exactly ideal - hey, hey - " Joe reaches and grabs her flailing hands, using her momentum as leverage to pull her into his side, "hey. Let's have a moment, babe, we just remembered that we made it to a milestone - "

"Screw your moment," Mel mutters, fighting against the smile that threatens to emerge as he attempts to dodge her blows to kiss her cheek. "You're - hey! Watch the hands, I didn't give you groping consent, bucko."

Joe laughs, letting go of her wrists abruptly and letting her fall back against the headboard with a muffled thump. "I have to ask permission now? I thought it turned you on when I got all forceful."

"Yeah, 'cuz it's cute, like watching a little puppy dog bark at you," Mel drawls, and grins when he rolls his eyes and laughs, relaxing back into the pillows and letting his hand stay on her knee, warm and big and always welcome, regardless of anything she might actually _say_. But he knows that. "Oh fine, okay, you can kiss me, but don't get a big head about it. It's just a formality - for the anniversary thing."

"Kiss you where?" Joe asks, cocking an eyebrow. Mel snorts. "I mean, I can think of a few places, but you're the boss, Madam Senator, I'm just your humble employee - "

"Shut up," Mel says, and grabs his shirt collar to tug him in close. He says something else, probably something gross, knowing him, but she can't understand him when they're kissing anyway. And thank God for that, she thinks.

(A secret: Mel kind of likes it when he mouths off, especially during sex. It makes it that much more fun to find ways to shut him up. Not that she'd ever admit it. He really doesn't need any more encouragement in that department.)

("Why didn't you just pay me like this from the beginning," Joe mutters, two shirts and a bra later, and Mel laughs so loud Lennox pounds on their wall in annoyance, which kills the mood only slightly.)

So. Not a horrible anniversary, all things considered - way better than their first year, when Lennox had worked Joe up into a frantic worry spiral about it that had resulted in a disastrous dinner at a hipster sushi restaurant in Highland Square (Joe got in a yelling match with their waiter and somebody recorded Mel throwing a basket of bread in his face with their iPhone, she'd had to call Steph back from DC to do damage control when the blogs started throwing the phrase "partner abuse" around, it was this whole _thing_ ) and like, honestly, between the two choices, Mel would much rather have bickering sex about it a couple weeks after the fact rather than deal with the pressure of _celebrating a milestone_. It's kind of fitting, really. 

Lennox, Mel knows, would have some choice words about all this, because for all her affected cynicism, she is still the same girl who used to beg her Aunt Mel to let her watch The Little Mermaid _just one more time before bed, so what if I watched it three times today, you know I think that thing you always say about how too much TV makes you blind sounds a little fishy anyways_. She's the one who dreams about a wedding, who will slow down at the mall in front of the bridal stores and mention not-so-innocently that Mel would do well to stick to empires and A-lines, because of "your unfortunate hip/waist ratio - oh, you know what I mean, don't get all huffy."

("Married? Me and Joe? Ha!" Mel always makes sure that her 'ha' is extra loud, and when possible, directly in Lennox's face. "Yeah right."

"Oh, right, crazy of me to think that you're gonna marry your live-in life partner eventually," Lennox says dryly.

"We're not the marrying type," Mel says haughtily, and Lennox sighs and closes her eyes, scrunching up her face dramatically. "What - are you having a seizure? What?"

"I'm debating the pros and cons of bringing up that speech you made when you were drunk on Valentine's Day," Lennox says, and this is usually the point in the conversation when Mel starts wishing she'd given the boarding school option a little more thought.)

(This is why Ryder is everyone's go to for relationship problems: all he does is nod and stare at the ceiling, usually while eating something, and every once in awhile he'll smile and say something that he thinks sounds smart, like: "I support you in your decision," or "communication is key," and - his favorite - "life is like a box of chocolates," which is, actually, kind of weirdly comforting.)

Anyway. Regardless of Lennox's secret romantic fantasies that involve a fairy tale wedding and handwritten vows and a David Tutera designed reception where she and Ryder will sing a Mariah Carey duet for Mel and Joe's first dance - Mel's point still stands. If Mel and Joe are gonna get married, they'll do it the proper way - drunk, in Atlantic City, wearing each other's shoes and possibly in the company of strippers. You know, like _grown ups._

(Besides, what's a wedding for? Everyone _but_ the couple, that's what. And Mel and Joe are - well. Let's go with: "not the generous type.")

Joe still feels a little guilty about forgetting though, she can tell - not just because he's oddly gentlemanly about that kind of stuff (an anomaly for Mel's love life, that's for sure), but because he's so goddamn neurotic that she's pretty sure it's like, a slight against his weird, anal retentive pride or something. At any rate, it still means that she gets filet mignon for dinner and foot rubs before bed, so whatever. She'll take it. 

"I hope you're not expecting reciprocation or anything," she tells him, happily drifting in a cloud of the recently massaged and about to get laid. "'Cuz buddy, I'm not touching those feet of yours with a ten foot pole. Not even if you paid me."

"I moisturize," Joe protests, dutifully defending his feet's honor. Like he's offended that she doesn't share the same mild foot fetish that he pretends he doesn't have (he's not exactly shy about asking her to keep her heels on in bed, okay, you'd think he'd at least _try_ to be subtle). "You'd be so lucky, Burke."

Mel just closes her eyes and pretends like she didn't hear him - look, she'd rolled over in bed yesterday morning and spent an embarrassing amount of time smiling goofily at the moles on his back; she's not going to push the foot issue here. "You know, the more you talk, the less inclined I am to take my clothes off. FYI."

"You," Joe says, dragging out the word indecently against the inside of her knee, "like it when I talk."

"No, I don't."

"In fact, I'd say you might even - love it when I talk?" Joe's got that look on his face that Mel both loathes and loves, pure Jersey swagger that every home grown Italian boy wears like a badge of pride. "I'm a keen observer of human nature, Mel. Especially yours, and I gotta say - you dig my bark _and_ my bite."

"Oh God," Mel says through a moan, "I can't actually believe you just said that, you are such an idiot."

"You could at least pretend to be impressed by me sometimes," he grumbles, but he's smiling, leaning against her bent knees and tapping uneven rhythms against the sides of her thighs, over her skirt. "It's our anniversary and all."

"I thought the whole point of long term was that I didn't have to pretend to be impressed anymore," Mel says, but what she really means is: _of course you impress me, moron, you do it every day, you're my one in a million and I'm never gonna be done with you, ever._

It's the in-betweens that matter most, with Mel and Joe, and he hears all that stuff she doesn't say anyway. She picks up his, too - _two years,_ she thinks. _Yeah, I guess I could stand a few more._

(Joe Longo is every single guy she tried not to date when she was seventeen, from the smirk to the biceps to the way he never backs down or lets her get away with shit, the kind of guy she was always too afraid to trust, the guys she vowed to give up chasing when she cleaned up her act and got herself a degree and a respectable career in public service, and ain't it just hilarious how a guy like that ended up being the best choice, the right choice, the only choice. It's the way Mel's hodgepodge universe works, now - a guy like that, two kids she never expected, a mismatch thrown-together sort of life that they're all making up as they go along. It's weird, it's annoying, whatever, it works.)

"Kids aren't home," Joe murmurs, nudging her knees apart to make himself comfortable. "Could get up to quite a lot of trouble, if we wanted."

"Well, it is our anniversary and all," Mel replies, and reaches out for his hand. He meets her halfway, palm already open.


End file.
